In Darkness, Memory
by Gwachaedir
Summary: After Voldemort was defeated for the second time, things were supposed to be different. Life was supposed to go back to normal, but when everything has changed normal no longer exists. A memoir from Harry’s pov after he defeats Voldemort. *Rating may ch


Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good; Harry Potter does not belong to me, that honor belongs to JK Rowlings. Author notes at end.

In Darkness, Memory

Never in my whole life had I dreamed that it would end like this: a hollow victory with little resolution and no hope that I could see. Victory was supposed to be a glorious thing, full of rejoicing and the return of normalcy. Now I discovered that was merely a fleeting ideal that held no relevance here. Even since the first day of my induction into the wizarding world, I knew that people expected something great from me; to them I was a hero from the age of one. Yet, I knew nothing of heroics; I was only a boy who couldn't even confront my cousin and family. I did not even learn of my status or the truth of my parents until the first day I met Hagrid in the hut upon the sea. When I came to Hogwarts, I begged the sorting hat not to put me in Slytherin; I wanted to be a Gryffindor, noble and courageous as my father before me. Now I know why I should have been in Slytherin. At Hogwarts, I suffered many trials, tragedy and triumph. The victories were always far fewer and more fleeting it seemed. In the early years of my education I still believed in the indomitable nobility and strength of the human spirit to overcome all odds; as I look around I'm not so sure any more. 

All around me lay corpses, that of my family, friends, hopes and memories. Solemnly I doubt if they could be remembered anymore. Tragedy always has a way of deleting the fondest memories, even as a dementor works. I glance down at the two wands that lay within my grasp, so similar, yet so different. Memories overtake me as I remember what led us to this place and what might have been. It is our choices that make us who we are; the future had seemed so bright when I learned of my heritage, it was only later that I learned how young and naïve I had been. I fear I would weep if I had any tears left to shed, yet I have cried too often over these last few years for any tears to remain now. Perhaps I too am merely a corpse for I can feel nothing save the cold longing of loneliness and despair. Desperately, I stare across the godforsaken ground hoping, if there is any hope left, to see someone alive. There is nothing, no whisper of even the wind through the forest. The chill calls me forward, but I cannot progress; even now, something blocks my way. Looking downwards, my eyes are first caught by the red-brown stains adorning my hands and clothing. It was not the first time that another's blood had stained my hands; but if I had any power left, it would be the last. I was so tired of it all, the death and destruction that this war had wrought through my own hands. Beyond my hands, on the ground before me lay the corpse of my own, bitter enemy. My enemy, the only man who ever knew me for who I really was beyond the hero's façade. Despite my earlier vow against the deaths that I had caused I could feel no remorse for the murder of the man who lay before me now. Lord Voldemort sought such destruction as I had sought to end, and for that, he deserved the final punishment. For a short moment I wondered when I had first lost my innocence; was it during my first meeting of Querill and Voldemort's disembodied spirit? No, my innocence lasted longer than that, though not too many years longer. Thinking back, it must have been watching the murder of Cedric Diggory; it was but the first death on my conscience and the first time I learned to hate. It would be only the start of trend I would do anything to break. The anger came so easily after Cedric's death, after Sirius'; it was because of my mercy that Wormtail was alive to resurrect Voldemort and begin anew his reign of tyranny. I show no mercy now to any of my enemies.

My eyes close slowly as the memories of how I came to be this way over take me; my stomach clenches hard as the worst of my life overtakes my mind. My fifth year, the start of many of my troubles, the year in which I was believed to be either supremely arrogant, insane or to be as dark as Voldemort himself or even some combination of the three. Patterns repeat themselves I've learned: in my second year I was reviled because it was believed that I was Slytherin's heir, in my fourth because people believed that I was a cheater and a murderer and the rest of the years of my schooling as being the next dark lord if and when I chose to defeat Voldemort. My fifth year was really the defining moment, I was once again responsible for the death of another, this time a dear friend; it was also the first time I cast an Unforgivable. At the time, all I could think of was revenge and for that, I wanted the satisfaction of seeing Bellatrix Lestrange writhing under the pain of the _Cruciatus_ curse. She would suffer later on, even if I didn't have the strength of will to cast _ Cruciatus_ correctly at the time. No one else knew of my attempt to cast an Unforgivable at the time, a fact for which I would be very grateful. Later I would owe my life to Dumbledore's interference against Voldemort; I hated being in his debt. Of course, it was also partly Dumbledore's fault that I was even in the position to be harmed, partly Dumbledore's fault that Sirius was dead. If Dumbledore had only told me what was happening, if only he hadn't treated me like a goddamned child I wouldn't have been in such a position. If Dumbledore was a Gryffindor, he certainly had the manipulative abilities of the truest Slytherin. I would never again place such trust in another's hands and certainly, I never again trusted Dumbledore. After all that had happened he couldn't even be bothered to entrust me with all the information about my own past and the reason Voldemort had sought me when I was only a year old. 

After Sirius' death, I inherited the Black family house on Grimmauld Place, now headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Despite this, I was forced once again to stay with the Dursleys; this time I would not stand for it easily and although Ron and Hermione tried to withhold information from me, I became well informed. Eventually I was allowed to return to the Black house; it seemed that almost nothing had changed except for the fate of Kreacher. No one could abide him, yet he was ordered to stay within the confines of the house lest he give away the secret of the Order. I was sixteen at the time I became a full member of the Order along with Ron and Hermione. That summer was also the first time that I began to participate in raids against the Death Eaters. With Fudge's now, all too obliging backing, the Order finally had the resources to plan offensive moves rather than just defensive holding patterns. Unfortunately, that also meant that more people knew about the Order and, therefore, a part of the great secrecy of the Order was compromised. I had been on a few minor raids with the Order when it finally came time for me to participate in one of the larger raids. We knew that the Death Eaters were guarding some type of dark artifact although even Snape wasn't certain of the exact artifact or its properties. There was supposed to be a contingent of about twenty Death Eater regulars guarding the artifact and our plan was to hit the site hard and fast, pull out with the talisman and all would be well. Of course, nothing can ever be simple or easy when it comes to such critical affairs. Instead of the twenty grunts we expected, there were at least forty regulars as well as several high-ranking Death Eaters. Although we were able to apparate into the site without difficulty, once we realized that it was indeed a trap, there was no way to escape as the Death Eaters raised the anti-apparation charms. There was no hope of reinforcements or escape with the replacement of the wards; it was an eventuality for which I had trained, yet it still terrified me. The curses flew about us in a macabre light show, all too eerily reminding me of the fight down in the Department of Mysteries. The fetid green light of _Avada Kedavra_ passed into our midst and someone went down, but I wasn't close enough to see who had been hit, who had been killed. At first, we used only light curses to fight back, but too many of us had been incapacitated and then, out of the merest corner of my eye I saw the green light pass from our side as well. It might have started from Mad Eye, but from that moment on it didn't matter any more as the rest of us used any curse we could to save ourselves. We were no different from the Death Eaters themselves at that moment. It was difficult to even distinguish between the two forces with both sides dressed in thick black cloaks. The only difference la y in the red phoenix fire emblazoned on our chests, it seemed all too ominous a sigil now. Then beside me, I saw Hermione fall from the killing curse; she uttered not even a whimper, as she seemed to fall in slow motion to the ground beside me. It was time, so much death around me. A few months before I had not been able to call the will to cast the _Cruciatus curse_, but now I could feel the echoing hatred race through me and the knowledge of pleasure that I would kill the one who had dared to hurt my friend. Carefully I aimed, sighting for the one whom I knew had cast the curse; I knew there would be consequences, but at the moment, I didn't care. Focused only on my target I shouted out the words that had haunted me for so long. _Avada Kedavra_. Power coursed through me, so strong and true I nearly shivered in pleasure as the power culminated in the curse attacking the man who had killed Hermione. I stumbled back as the power left me, then picked myself up anew. The Death Eater lay still, never to rise again; the battle seemed to still around me as I looked down at the death that I had truly caused, the murder I had committed. I'm still not sure what happened next, what caused me to sink to my knees next to the corpse and raise back the mask hiding the Death Eater's face. Cold, dead eyes stared from a face equally frozen in death as I gazed down upon it. No nameless man or woman did I see, but rather a face that I knew. Though of Slytherin's house, Ravenclaw would have suited him just as well, Blaise Zambini had been a decent sort of fellow for all that I knew of him. He didn't have the sort of contacts to make him a friend of Draco Malfoy's like although he was of pureblood. If things had been different, I probably would have been able to call him a friend. Now he lay here, a corpse made by my own hand after he had murdered Hermione. My face grew cold and grim after thinking that last; he had been dealt justice for his crimes, it was no more than he deserved. A life for a life that is the only justice known out here on the battlefield. 

I stood alone once more, as the haze of memory faded and grim reality became known. It was a cold truth that I had learned during that raid, yet it was a necessary entity as were many others that I would later learn. Both Ron and I had escaped that day relatively unscathed, physically at least, though there were many others who hadn't. After that day, Ron and I started to drift apart; my mind grew ever more focused on the aspects of battle and how it called to me as a way to end my own fear. Ron, on the other hand, was completely lost without Hermione; he became as a ghost around the castle as he grew deeper into despair. Each night as I tried to sleep, visions of that day came to me; it was not the knowledge that I had killed that kept me awake. It was the memory of the power that I had felt at the moment that the curse coursed through my veins; the power…such immense power, it called to me like nothing before or since. Even now, I feel a shiver at the mere memory of the power. Finally, I knew why wizards turned to the dark arts; it was exhilarating and addicting, enthralling even in mere memory. As school started I found myself withdrawing from most of school life, secluding myself in the knowledge of arcane facts and lore that could potential help me defeat Voldemort. A few months into the school year there was another raid against the Death Eaters; this time Ron was not a member of the group and how it was now he would probably never be apart of the group again. Although the raid went well this time there was a certain lacking within me and I could not celebrate with the others after the raids successful conclusion. It was then that the longing started.

To be continued...

*****

It's going to be a dark ride with at least one to two more chapters. I actually wrote this story before Order of the Pheonix came out, but once I read that story I had to change it to reflect new issues. I know JK said that she wouldn't make Harry turn dark, but I see it as a natural conclusion especially considering the fact that he tried to curse Lestrange. Please read and review.


End file.
